Dustwater was a dying town. The wooden houses leaned like drunks, their beams bowed and cracked. Mud paths turned to sludge when it rained and baked into jagged stone when it didn't. The people who lived there had long since stopped hoping for better days.
Lia was among them. A child of forgotten bloodlines and empty stomachs, she wandered the alleys barefoot, her feet calloused like worn leather. Her hair was a tangle of dark curls, and her clothes were patched so many times the original fabric had disappeared. Her eyes, however, remained sharp. Too sharp for her age.
She was between ten and thirteen—but in Dustwater, birthdays didn't matter. Only survival did.
Today, she was hungry. Again.
Maru, her younger brother, clung to her side. He was seven, scrawny as a dry root, his large brown eyes constantly darting. "Lia," he whispered, "someone's coming."
She ducked behind a cart and pulled Maru close. A group of men passed—a local gang working for the greedy lord who ruled Dustwater like a king. They wore red cloth on their arms, and their boots were polished, which meant they had food and gold. Lia watched them go with clenched fists.
When the road cleared, she took Maru's hand and darted toward the trash heaps near the town's edge. They often scoured there, hoping to find scraps or something they could trade. Today, it was just the usual filth. Flies buzzed over rotting produce and rusted metal.
Then Maru's foot kicked something.
It clinked—a dull, heavy sound unlike stone or bone.
Lia turned, eyes narrowing. Half-buried in the trash was a small object glinting in the late afternoon light. She knelt and pulled it free. It was a bronze lamp, round and oddly smooth, with strange markings on its sides. Despite the grime, it felt warm to the touch.
"What is it?" Maru asked.
"I don't know," Lia whispered.
She wiped it with her sleeve. The moment her palm slid across the surface, the air changed. A sudden hush fell over the heap. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Then it came.
A gust of golden smoke burst from the lamp's mouth, coiling like a serpent, high into the air before slamming down in front of them. The smoke solidified into the shape of a man—tall, ageless, wearing flowing robes that shimmered like sunlight through stained glass. His eyes were deep gold, and his presence was heavy, like a storm waiting to break.
Maru yelped and stumbled back. Lia shielded him.
The man bowed. "I am the bound servant of this lamp. Three wishes shall be granted to you, my master."
Lia's mouth was dry. "You... you're a genie?"
"I am what you call such things," he said.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"And yet, you rubbed the lamp. The pact is made."
She looked to Maru, who clung to her tunic. The genie turned his gaze to the boy and softened, just slightly. "You are young," he said, "but old enough to know want. That is the price of this world."
Lia swallowed. "If I wish for food, what happens?"
"It shall be given."
"If I wish for gold?"
"It shall appear."
"If I wish for someone to die?"
The genie paused. "That too, if it is your will."
She looked down at the lamp in her hands. The weight of it seemed heavier now.
"I don't know what to wish for," she said.
"Then wait," said the genie. "I am not bound to time, only to the rules."
Lia hesitated, then nodded. "You'll stay with us?"
"Until your wishes are spent."
She wrapped the lamp in a cloth and tucked it into her satchel. Maru still stared at the genie, wide-eyed.
"What's your name?" the boy asked.
The genie looked thoughtful. "I have had many names. But if it pleases you, call me... Mister Genie."
Maru giggled. Lia sighed.
And somewhere above them, the clouds gathered, heavy with a storm that would not yet fall.